


Open Practice

by Rain_GellerBing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broken Hearts, Closeted Character, Crushes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, growing up as a queer quidditch player, i got a beta and she is amazing and i will never stop thanking her, if boys talked more often about feelings this would be much shorter, lots of pining, oh i almost forgot, pitches and pining, some Flint family drama because why not, this was supposed to be a lot shorter than it actually is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rain_GellerBing/pseuds/Rain_GellerBing
Summary: During a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw open practice, Oliver and Marcus discover that they are more similar than they believed.How will this new revelation change their rivalry?





	Open Practice

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my beta Nari from the bottom of my heart. Without her, this would be a two pages document on my desktop. 
> 
> Go check her blog (flint-wood) on Tumblr and give her all the love and appreciacion she deserves.
> 
> I hope you will like this :)

The first time they talked together, it was Marcus' fourth year. Not that they hadn't had some verbal contact before, but being a Slytherin Chaser and the Gryffindor Keeper meant that their interactions had been all but friendly.

 

It happened during a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw open practice. Marcus had never understood why Puffs and Ravens often did these open practices – read: friendly matches – during the year, but he didn't care. It was one way like another to see people play Quidditch, and Marcus would never pass on that.

 

And yeah, maybe he had a major crush on a Puff. Nobody needed to know.

 

Except.

 

Except he noticed the little Gryffindor at the end of the rows. Little was clearly a figure of speech, since Wood had probably never been little, not even as an infant, but that was beyond the point. Wood was shorted and younger than Marcus, hence the 'little'.

 

Anyway, let's not get lost in memories. Marcus had noticed Wood, and also something else. Because Marcus was an idiot, yes, but he wasn't stupid. Or blind.

 

Wood ogled the new Ravenclaw Chaser with the same look Marcus knew was on his eyes when he looked at a certain somebody. He spent the entire open practice deciding what to do. He knew that the best thing was to let everything go and pretend he hadn't noticed. A small part of him wanted to humiliate Wood, but a bigger part knew how horrible that would be. He wasn't a hypocrite anyway.

 

If you ask Marcus now, he will tell you that he definitely didn't intend to do what he ended up doing. He just had to pretend nothing happened. It wasn't that hard. No one else had noticed, Marcus was sure. Heterosexuals are strategically oblivious. Even if they see something slightly gay, they don't register it as that. They think it's weird, maybe. A joke. Or a strong friendship. Anything but gay.

 

Well, Marcus didn't know how heteros thought, not being one, so he stopped dwelling on that and, when he noticed no one was looking at the practice any more – it had been more than two hours – he silently approached the Gryffindor.

 

Wood was gaping at Davies in a way that made Marcus laugh. Internally. The boy was fucking thirteen, probably still in the closet. Maybe, even, he didn't even realize it. No, that wasn't possible. Or maybe it was. Marcus didn't know for sure. Again, he wasn't stupid, but he was an idiot.

 

He just let himself sit next to Wood, who jolted alert. Marcus kept his eyes on the pitch, where the two Seekers were discussing something. He was pissed by the fact that he couldn't hear what the players were saying.

 

“What do you want, Flint?” Wood asked, after a while. He was wary, and he hadn't looked at anything that wasn't Marcus since he had sat down. Marcus sighed. He didn't think things through and he didn't know what to say.

 

He was saved by Fate, though. He had noticed the two Seekers had started flying around, and he had noticed _he_ was approaching. And right after Wood had stopped talking, Cedric was right in front of them, flashing him one of his fucking gorgeous smiles.

 

“Marcus! So good to see you!” Cedric said, his eyes glowing. It was almost sunset, and his blond hair glimmered with red. It was painfully easy for Marcus to smile back.

 

“I wouldn't have missed your first open practice for the world, Ced.” he grinned, and he could see the joy in the other boy's eyes.

 

“You have to tell me what you thought.”

 

“Of course. Now go back to your training.” Marcus winked, and Cedric laughed, before turning around to join the Ravenclaw Seeker.

 

Marcus didn't need to turn to know that Wood's mouth was open again, this time looking at him, instead of at Davies. He instantly felt his cheeks turn red.

 

“What. Was that.” the boy said, and Marcus genuinely laughed.

 

“I don't know, Wood. You tell me.” he smirked.

 

“You smiled. And had a polite conversation. With a person.” Wood sounded as shocked as Marcus had hoped he would be. “For fuck's sake, Flint! You _winked!”_

 

That made Marcus laugh again. He knew that Cedric brought out some... unusual parts of him. No wonder Wood had been surprised by his reactions to Hufflepuff's Golden Boy.

 

Marcus turned to see the disbelief in Wood's eyes. He smiled, calming this time.

 

“It's always nice to see that you are not alone, isn't it?”

 

Marcus suppressed a laugh. Wood had turned a shade of red darker than his Gryffindor scarf. The boy mumbled something like “I don't know what you're talking about”, and Marcus rolled his eyes.

 

“By the way, do you even know Davies? Have you ever talked to him?” Marcus asked, instead of pretending Wood didn't understand what they were talking about. “At least Cedric and I are, like, childhood friends, with my mum and his dad being Hogwarts besties.”

 

Wood's frown increased. “Your mum was a Hufflepuff?”

 

“Is that really the thing you want to focus on in this conversation?” Marcus asked and, for the first time, Wood laughed.

 

*

 

It had been weird, sure, but finding a comrade had been one of the best things that had ever happened to him in all his life. Oliver still had a hard time accepting that he didn't like girls, and when he was with Flint... it was surprisingly natural. Normal. Easy. Fine.

 

Oliver at first didn't talk much. Flint had suggested meeting again, after that first open practice. Oliver was scared. A lot. Even if Flint had suggested that he too was into blokes, he was still a Slytherin. A big troll who could crush Oliver with a punch.

 

They started meeting regularly. On Wednesday nights there were no Astronomy classes, and they used the observatory as meeting place for their chats. It was easier to talk in the dark room, looking at the stars outside the glass.

 

At first Oliver didn't talk much. He sat there, hugging his legs, pretending to be smaller than he was. Surprisingly, Flint talked a lot.

 

The older boy had probably guessed his internal struggles, and he always started talking about Quidditch, rather than personal matters. Oliver had a lot to say, especially because he didn't exactly see eye to eye with Flint most of the time, but Oliver usually just commented on what the other boy said, much to the Slytherin’s disappointment.

 

During his Quidditch talks, Flint would end up mentioning a particularly good-looking player, and Oliver always felt a tug in his stomach when it happened. He knew. Flint knew. This knowledge always made him panic.

 

But Flint never asked questions, after the open practice. Once he understood that Oliver's stupid unrequited crush was mainly based on the way Roger Davies flew, the way he played and his stupid good looks, Flint stopped asking. He always talked about Diggory. Oliver almost never knew how, but he would always end up talking about the boy. And it was therapeutic, really, hearing another guy talk about a boy with all that fondness.

 

Flint always described Diggory as a 'crush', but Oliver suspected it was something more. Flint was head over the heels for the boy, and after hearing so much about him Oliver was sure Flint had his reasons.

 

It was at least after three months that he found the courage to talk. Like, really talk. Not just about Quidditch. It had taken two months to speak his mind about the game when Flint said something he didn't agree with – and sometimes Oliver presumed that Flint was saying stupid things just to have him talk.

 

But it took another while for Oliver to actually open up.

 

In the darkness of the observatory, it was easy to talk about important things. It took him almost a year to say the word 'gay', but it didn't matter. Because he had someone to talk to. Someone who understood him even when he didn't wanted to be understood. Someone who really got him.

 

Someone who helped him accept himself a little more.

 

*

 

Summer came and went, and before he realized it, Marcus was a fifth year student, and everyone was fussing about O.W.L.s and how important and decisive they would be. All Marcus wanted to do was roll his eyes and pretend he couldn't feel genuine anxiety settling in his chest every time someone mentioned anything related to the future. Yes, settling was the right word. It was as if many little worried men were building their stupid houses made of panic between Marcus' throat and chest.

 

He didn't even know what he was doing the first Wednesday night of the year, strolling around the castle after curfew, apparently without a destination. He sighed. He was pretty sure Wood would not be there, no matter how relaxed the boy had been during their last talks the previous year.

 

Truth was, Marcus had had quite a hard time that summer to admit to himself that he had enjoyed spending time with Wood. But he had. That boy was smarter than he looked, and he had a whole lot of passion about Quidditch that it was hard not to notice, or not to get moved by his enthusiastic speeches. His opinions on the game weren't all that bad either – apart from his exaggerated reactions to cheating.

 

Anyway.

 

Marcus arrived at the Astronomy tower, finding it empty as he thought it would be. Sitting on the wood floor with his back to the stony wall, Marcus decided that he would wait two hours, to see if Wood wanted their meetings to keep going or not. Looking at the stars, he started to think about some moves to use during the season, and he even tried to come up with new strategies to beat Gryffindor during the first match. He wanted to become captain the following year, and to achieve that he needed to show Snape and McKinley that he cared. No, not only that. He needed to show that he was _great_.

 

His father had been quite straightforward, for once. He had told him that his O.W.L.s had to be suitable for a Flint. Suitable for a young man whose future had been determined even before he was born. A future in the Ministry, as a leading member of the society. Not as a Quidditch player.

 

And Marcus wanted to prove him wrong. He wanted to show his father that he wasn't like him and his brother Aurelianus. He was like his mother, for fuck's sake, but that was a topic his father had barely touched in the past eleven years, and whenever Marcus tried to bring it up he was shot down by one of his parent's icy glares.

 

As he thought about his team and his troubles, Marcus didn't notice that he had extended his stay. It only occurred to him when he heard the clock in the room ring twelve times. Shit. It was already midnight. He had been there for... how long?

 

He got up, his back and legs aching because of the uncomfortable position they had been in. He was cold and sleepy and in a bad mood. How could he show the captain that he was smarter than Higgs, when the bloody idiot had the best grades in their year and people thought that Marcus was half troll?

 

He was insulting Higgs and his stupid smart brain in his head as he was opening the door. Door that opened before he could put the hand on the handle. He cursed loudly. Shit. A professor had found him out of bed after curfew during the first week of school. His father was going to be pleased.

 

Marcus' turmoil died quickly, because in front of him was the one and only Oliver Wood, cheeks flushed and heavy breath, as if he had run from the Gryffindor Tower to the Astronomy one. Which, knowing Wood, was probably a correct assumption.

 

Once he had recognised Marcus, Wood smiled, and Marcus had to force himself not to roll his eyes.

 

“You're late.” he pointed out, grateful to his voice because it didn't betray how glad he was to see Wood come to their appointment, after all.

 

“I swear I thought it was Tuesday. I realized it was Wednesday only ten minutes ago, when I asked my room-mate what classes we had on Wednesday and he told me that _today_ had been Wednesday.” Wood rambled, and Marcus had a hard time to stay serious. Dear Merlin, the guy was too cute and stupid for his own good.

 

Wait.

 

Cute?

 

Wood???

 

Before he could even think about it, Wood pushed past him to go and sit in the middle of the room. Marcus looked at him, raising one eyebrow.

 

When he noticed that Marcus wasn't taking his usual spot next to him, Wood asked “Is it too late?” in a voice that made Marcus' heart ache a bit.

 

The Slytherin sighed, closing his eyes. He was tired, but not that tired. He could stay for a little bit longer.

 

*

 

Oliver knew how annoying his smile was, no matter how much his classmates told him to stop because it was creepy. He couldn't help it though. He really couldn't stop smiling, even though his good spirits annoyed all the people around him.

 

He was sure everyone thought he was in such a great mood because of Quidditch, and part of his inability to stop smiling had something to do with the fact that he'd become quite a good Keeper, if he might have said so himself.

 

He was smiling for something else though, and he really couldn't understand how or why something so small made him just... so happy.

 

The night before he had met with Flint like every Wednesday, he had endured the incessable litany of compliments Flint had to say about Diggory, and he had exposed his theories about how the Harpies were going to win the championship that year and it had been exactly like always, really. Nothing weird, nothing different. But he had noticed that the more time he spent with Flint, the happier he became. Not in a cheesy, weird way. It was like the smile he was wearing that day, even through his two hours Transfiguration class: it was like sunshine ran in his veins, and he couldn't control it.

 

It was probably that stupid sensation that had him say what he said the previous night. They were parting, a little earlier than usual maybe, when Flint had said, like always, “See you next week, Wood.”

 

And really, Oliver blamed it on the sunny thing he had inside of him.

 

“Don't you think that still going by surnames is kinda... cold?” he had asked, and Flint had turned to face him, closing the door he had just slightly opened.

 

“I mean” Oliver had panicked, Flint's grey eyes on him “I can still call you Flint, really, but I would like you call me Oliver. If possible.” Oh Merlin, he knew he had screwed everything up by the look in Flint's eyes. He had to joke. Soon. “You know, whenever you call me Wood I end up thinking about my father, and it's weird to picture you two having a conversation.”

 

Oliver hoped somehow that excuse made sense. He couldn't really explain why, all of a sudden, he had started to dislike the way Flint addressed him only by surname. He wasn't able to find the words to understand it himself, let alone explain it to Flint.

 

Flint who, after a pregnant pause, nodded. “Yeah, I think it's kind of weird too, Oliver.” he tried, almost shy, and then he made a funny face to make Oliver laugh. Then, his eyes darkened, threatening.

 

“Call me Marcus in public and you can kiss your perfect teeth's ass.”

 

Oliver nodded, hiding a chuckle at the empty threat. “Ok, Marcus.” he smiled.

 

And he kept smiling.

 

*

 

“Are you going home for Christmas?”

 

Marcus had to suppress a groan because of fucking course he had to blunt out that question. Stupid Marcus. Maybe the troll rumour was true and he didn't even know it himself.

 

He had wanted to ask Oliver for quite a while, ever since he had sent that letter to his brother, but he never did. All the Gryffindor and him had talked about recently was Quidditch and Ced's ass, sometimes Davies' broad shoulders. They didn't talk about school. About families. About personal stuff.

 

Marcus saw it in Oliver's eyes, the realization that they were about to embark in something new, the awareness that they were going to deepen their relationship, whatever that weird thing between them was. They weren't friends, but they weren't enemies any more. Comrades, maybe. Partners sometimes felt like the right term, it sounded like it was the two of them against the world, a bigoted world that didn't want them. At the same time though, partners felt a little too much. A little too... intimate.

 

Anyway, Marcus didn't have the time to think about that stuff, not when he had just dropped the h word.

 

“Yes, I'm going back home on Monday. I guess we will not see each other next week.” Oliver smiled to lighten the mood, that had somehow become tense, but it was a sad, tentative smile, that only made Marcus more nervous.

 

“Lucky you then. I'm not going home.” Marcus shrugged as if it was nothing of importance, when the both of them knew that the topic was important.

 

“Why?” Oliver asked after a brief pause, his tone as casual as ever.

 

Marcus felt his hands tremble a bit, so he put them in his pockets. He talked, looking at the wall in front of him and avoiding Oliver's gaze, which he felt burning his side.

 

“I'm not going home. I have to study.” he chuckled, another vain attempt to lighten the mood. Oliver chuckled too, sounding way more genuine than Marcus. He turned, looking at the other boy, who was smiling.

 

“I didn't even know that Marcus Flint knew what studying was.” Oliver said with a grin, and Marcus wanted to laugh at that, he really wanted to, but the pain in his chest was too much, too strong. He smiled though, telling himself that talking about this with Oliver wasn't that bad of an idea.

 

“I have to take the O.W.L.s this year, you dimwit.” Marcus smiled, thinking about how absurd it would sound to everybody. Marcus Flint worried about exams. It was so simple, and yet so funny.

 

“I didn't know that to get in the League you need to have a lot of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.” Oliver commented, slightly concerned about his grades, Marcus thought.

 

“Well, I don't know much about the League, but the Ministry sure wants smart and well educated people to join the ranks.”

 

He smiled bitterly at Oliver's confused look. “I'm a Flint. Flints are either the heirs of the family properties, if they are the firstborn, or they work in the Ministry. No other choice. Or better, there's a third choice, but only the girls are brought up to be charming and to marry some rich, aristocratic bloke.” Marcus added, trying to joke, but it was surprisingly difficult to joke about his future.

 

“Wait are you serious?” Oliver asked, surprise all over his features. “You're not going pro?”

 

It looked like it was inconceivable to Oliver for Marcus not to become a professional Quidditch player, and the thought made Marcus genuinely smile. Knowing that someone cared was the best thing that could come out of that unusual conversation, and he was glad it had happened.

 

“No, I am not going pro.” Marcus did nothing to hide his pain.

 

He looked at Oliver, who was torn between asking why and letting Marcus the possibility to share what he wanted and to keep the rest for himself.

 

In the end, Oliver settled for a “Wait, does this mean that I only have two other matches to kick your ass?” and that finally made Marcus laugh out loud.

 

“To _try_ to kick my ass, you mean.” Marcus teased, and the two boys ended up comparing their teams' strategies for the upcoming matches with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

  


*

 

Oliver knew he should stop thinking about it, but he couldn't. No matter how much he tried, he found himself more and more annoyed by the fact that Marcus kept mentioning Diggory. Like. A lot. And he couldn't stop thinking about how annoying it was.

 

It had all been stupid Christmas' fault. Marcus and Cedric had spent a lot of time together while Oliver was on vacation with his family, and when he had come back at Hogwarts, all Marcus could talk about was the stupid Hufflepuff Seeker.

 

It even looked like Marcus had forgotten about his troubles with his father, all thanks to the pretty boy's smiles. Oliver wondered, not for the first time, if Marcus had told Diggory about his problems and his concerns about the future. Because he _had_ told _Oliver_ , and that made the Gryffindor strangely proud.

 

“You've been quite distracted lately, Oliver.” Charlie told him one night. His captain had asked him to help him put everything away after practice, and Oliver had feared Charlie wanted to tell him something. As it turned out, Charlie wanted to tell him exactly what he was worried he would say.

 

“I... I know. Sorry.” Oliver replied, feeling a lot smaller than he was.

 

Charlie looked at him half angry, half amused. “If you want to make it captain next year, you have to keep up being the exceptional Keeper I know you are.” he smiled.

 

Oliver's head started spinning. “C-captain?”

 

Charlie nodded, cheerful. “McGonagall asked me who I think is the most suited to replace me next year, and I can't think of anyone else.”

 

Ok this had to be a dream, Oliver was dreaming, this couldn't be-

 

“I'm sure you're going to be a good captain, as long as you don't try to kill your team. I feel like you will over-train your poor teammates.”

 

Oliver flashed a grin. “You know that over-training doesn't exist.” Charlie rolled his eyes.

 

“See? That's what I'm worried about.” Charlie said, but he was still smiling.

 

Oliver was... excited was a bit reductive, but he couldn't think about a better synonym. He was buzzing with enthusiasm, he couldn't wait to tell Marcus that he was probably going to make captain the following year. Him. Captain.

 

It was Tuesday, which meant that the time to tell Marcus the exciting news was closer than he could wish for. As he went back to the castle, Oliver thought about how to make the announcement to Marcus, what to say, when to say it, what to reply to the inevitable jabs the other would throw.

 

And then suddenly, as he was climbing the stairs, it hit him. The reason why he wanted to tell Marcus. The reason why he didn't even care that much to tell his _parents_ , not enough to think about them first anyway. He hadn't thought about anything that wasn't Marcus – or that wasn't related one way or another to Marcus – much recently, had he?

 

And, as a smile was born on his lips, it quickly died.

 

Diggory.

 

No way he could compete with Diggory. Diggory was graceful, beautiful, perfect. Oliver was... Oliver was clumsy whenever he wasn't on a broom, his footsteps always too heavy, his arms always too long to move like a normal, coordinated person. He was plain, no matter how much time he spent in the bathroom every morning, trying to look presentable. And he was too hot headed, too stupid, too _Gryffindor_ to ever even resemble something close to perfection in Marcus Flint's eyes.

 

The smile on his lips grew sadder the more he thought about how his first love would hurt.

 

*

 

During the summer, Marcus Flint changed a lot. He trained like crazy, avoiding his father as best as he could. He had always been quite large, but after the summer between his fifth and sixth year he became brawny. A wall of muscles.

 

He let his hair grow, but he would deny that it was because he realized that his eyes were of the exact same shade as his father, and his long black locks would hide his bloody grey eyes.

 

And he got a girlfriend.

 

He was surprised as much as the next guy at the news, really. But after spending a week on vacation with his brother Aurelianus, his fiancé and her family, Marcus had realized that he didn't mind if Cecilia, Aurelianus future sister-in-law, looked at him in a different way than Marcus expected. Girls usually didn't look at him like that. They didn't blush when he said something funny, they didn't even listen to him when he talked.

 

Cecilia did all these things, and more. She wrote him a lot of letters after that short week of vacation, and Marcus didn't mind reading them. Or answering. Cecilia was a nice girl. She was funny, she loved Quidditch and she wrote amazing poetry (to tell the truth, Marcus didn't get much of what she meant in her verses, but he could understand that the words had a deeper meaning. And if he read out loud, the poems had a nice rhythm).

 

It wasn't a surprise when, after a boring dinner held at Flints Manor, while they were walking in the moonlit garden, Cecilia had kissed him. It hurt, though, to tell her that he wasn't interested. Not because she wasn't great, but only because he had feelings for someone else.

 

Marcus hadn't failed to notice that every time Cecilia did something amazing there was a little part of him that compared her to Ced. And Cecilia was far too good to waste herself with a guy in love with someone else. She deserved someone who could really love her.

 

Apparently, Cecilia didn't care much about that. She said that she had guessed that Marcus had someone else in mind. She even tactfully made clear that she suspected that Marcus wasn't exactly thinking about a girl, and she looked okay with that.

 

“I don't mind waiting, Marc. If you will ever feel ready to start something with me, I'll gladly wait until you are ready.” she smiled, her eyes shining as she watched the full moon.

 

It was only after a particularly cold conversation with his father, that left him feeling empty and alone in the world, that Marcus understood how much Cecilia meant for him. Only by reading her letters he had calmed down. Only her last poem – something about the wind, having hands on a broomstick and flying away from all the shit – had actually cheered him up.

 

That's how Marcus got a girlfriend, by writing a letter to a girl telling her he was ready. He wanted to be a little less miserable, and he knew she would help.

 

The rumour spread quite quickly during the first days at Hogwarts, probably because nobody believed that _Marcus Flint_ , of all the people, had found a girl crazy enough to go out with him.

 

They didn't do much, really. They kissed, but never in public. They usually spent time at the library, Cecilia working on an essay or some verses, and Marcus on his play-book. Whenever he was in a pinch, he would ask for her help, and she was always glad to talk about strategy with Marcus.

 

There had been many different reactions to Marcus having a girlfriend but, as before stated, the main reaction had been disbelief. Some made fun of the situation, some straight dismissed it as untrue gossip, but the majority couldn't believe that someone like Cecilia was somehow attracted to Marcus Flint.

 

Perhaps that's why Oliver's reaction stung so much. Because it was something Marcus didn't foresee.

 

When he had gone to the Astronomy tower, the first Wednesday night of the year, he had found Oliver waiting for him. Marcus almost joked about the fact that the previous year the other boy had forgotten about their meeting and now he was uncharacteristically on time, but something in Oliver's eyes told him not to do that.

 

Oliver was hurt. He looked like a wounded puppy, and for the split of a second Marcus wanted to ask what happened.

 

Oliver was too quick, and he didn't give him the time to speak.

 

“So... you and that Ravenclaw girl.”

 

Marcus observed how Oliver had completely avoided saying Cecilia's name. No way he didn't know who she was.

 

“Is there a problem with me dating Cecilia?” Marcus asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Which was kind of difficult, because Oliver's nervousness was driving him crazy.

 

“Oh no, no problem,” Oliver avoided his gaze, and that, added to an insolent tone, made Marcus even more angry, “only that I didn't expect you to get a _girl_ friend, that's it. Does she know you like d-”

 

Marcus didn't let him finish the sentence, talking with far less grace than he had intended to before opening his mouth “One can like boys and girls equally, Wood. Do you still want to ask me questions about my sexuality now that we are on topic or would you mind telling me what you did this summer? You look like shit.”

 

Oliver rolled his eyes, and Marcus was sure that the Gryffindor would reply with something bitter and hurtful. Instead, Oliver inhaled deeply.

 

“Sorry. Just worried about my team, really. At the tryouts yesterday I couldn't find a single bloody Seeker.” Oliver murmured, and Marcus sat next to him on the wooden floor.

 

He could give some suggestions, captain to captain. It had always been way too easy to talk Quidditch with Oliver.

 

*

 

Finally, _finally_ , after weeks of agony and stomach aches, the world was smiling at Oliver Wood. He still didn't understand a single thing about his Potion classes and bloody Weasley wasn't really of help when he asked him to explain him something, but O.W.L.s were just a tiny little part of his life, at least in that moment, since June felt as distant as the sun.

 

He had found a Seeker. Or better, McGonagall had found him a Seeker, and the Seeker was bloody Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Bloody Knew How To Fly, for Merlin's sake.

 

Training someone with such raw talent was a pleasure to Oliver, who had never encountered someone like that. Someone who could just pick up a broom and fly like a person who had dedicated their life to flying. To Quidditch.

 

The fact that the boy had to wear glasses was a mild concern for Oliver (what use does one Seeker have if he is bloody useless in detecting the Snitch?), but Harry proved to be great at finding small, quick, enchanted tennis balls during training, and Oliver was proud of him.

 

Not to mention, training someone so inexperienced took a lot of time, and Oliver was grateful for that. Not only helping Harry helped him not think about stupid Ravenclaw girls with cherry lips and bright eyes, it also allowed him to arrive late to Wednesdays' meetings.

 

Oliver had thought a lot about not showing at the meetings any more, but he was sure he couldn't do it, no matter how much he wanted. Being able to share even five minutes with Marcus was a blessing, especially because he couldn't stand Flint. Flint had a girlfriend, and snarled at him every time they accidentally met in the corridors, because they were both captains, and that was what Gryffindor and Slytherin captains did. Marcus smiled at him when he opened the Astronomy classroom door, and discussed with him about the Falcons and the Tornados till their voices were hoarse and their eyelids heavy. No wonder Oliver preferred Marcus to Flint.

 

Oliver tried not to meet Marcus, he knew consciously that it would only hurt too much, to talk till dawn with a guy who would go back to freaking Cecilia Nightcrawler the next day, but he couldn't really stop. He couldn't even be mad at Marcus when they were close. When their shoulders bumped into each other because Marcus was too caught up in his narration, or their legs accidentally touched when Oliver turned to look into the other's stormy grey eyes.

 

It didn't help that he wanted to see those eyes in the light, and not only in the darkness of the Astronomy classroom, where the only light came from the stars above them. He wanted to hear Marcus' laugh while they walked around school, not only when he had to muffle it not to be discovered out of bed after the curfew. He wanted...

 

Oliver wanted to stop thinking about all of this, and Harry Bloody Potter was a good distraction, at least until his stupid mind didn't suggest things like “Oh I should tell Marcus that this happened.”.

 

“I can't believe they will let a first year play.” Marcus mumbled one night. Well, not really _one_ night, he had kept complaining about it since day one, but that night was the last Wednesday before the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, and Oliver could tell that the other boy was nervous.

 

“Does he even know how to ride a broom?”

 

Oliver snorted. “We have talked about this, Marcus. He knows how to ride a broom. He's bloody brilliant, and I am kind of envious, you know?” Oliver confessed, looking at the stars. “He is so good, even without all the practice and the hours people like us spent on getting better. He's just... good.”

 

“Well,” Marcus said, after a brief moment of silence “we will see how good he is Saturday, won't we?”

 

*

 

The worst thing about the match wasn't even the fact that Harry Fucking Potter had caught the Snitch with his fucking mouth. If Oliver had trained a frog or a chameleon the match would have ended up the same way – which kinda stung, because Marcus had put a lot of thought in his Seeker's training, since he knew that Potter was 'bloody brilliant', at least according to a reliable source as Oliver.

 

The worst thing about the match was that Oliver had started to avoid him right after.

 

To be honest, Marcus didn't think that Oliver had started to avoid him only after the match. It had started before it, when Potter had joined the Gryffindor team, but at that time Marcus didn't put much thought into it. Oliver had to train his team, especially the new Seeker who had lived all his life with Muggles and had no idea about how to play.

 

But after the first game of the season, it became more evident that Oliver was, indeed, avoiding him. There was no Quidditch related excuse – Gryffindor's next match was set in the second semester – that would keep Oliver away from their Wednesday meetings, but Oliver was always late, always training his poor team, that at this point Marcus was sure hated the captain.

 

Oliver didn't even tease him for losing the match, which would have been surprising even without the knowledge that the boy was avoiding Marcus. No joke, no comment. Nothing.

 

It was... unbelievable. Marcus had predicted proud smirks, a long speech about how Gryffindor was clearly superior – as if they hadn't won by sheer luck – and probably many comments about his Chasers, if not his Seeker.

 

Instead, after the game Marcus had received a late Oliver, who only wanted to talk about how the United had beaten to a pulp the Cannons.

 

The feeling all of this set in Marcus' chest wasn't pleasant at all. Marcus knew that the more Oliver avoided him and their meetings, the more he would become bitter. Almost sad. It was normal, right? Oliver was disrupting their happy routine, and that annoyed Marcus.

 

That had to be the explanation behind his constant bad mood.

 

*

 

It wasn't going well. Oliver was losing his head over Marcus Flint and it wasn't a good thing.

 

After the match, Marcus had been always in a bad mood, and Oliver couldn't help feeling somehow responsible.

 

It wasn't really his fault, after all. Harry caught the Snitch thanks to beginners luck – not that he would ever admit it to anyone – so it wasn't something Oliver could have prevented. But Marcus wasn't taking it well, it was clear as day.

 

He was more bitter, and he always snorted when Oliver showed up late at their meetings, instead of greeting him with a sarcastic comment about his tardiness.

 

Oliver was sorry, remorse was eating him. He only wanted to see Marcus smile, laugh like before. Instead, he only had Moody Marcus to spend the time with.

 

One particular night, right before Christmas break, Oliver arrived earlier than usual. Earlier than what had become his usual time, anyway. Marcus, as always, was already in the room, and he was crying.

 

“What on Earth happened?”

 

Oliver was surprised by his voice. It was steady and cold like a knife. It was scary. But seeing Marcus cry – _Marcus Flint can cry_ – had made him angry. More than angry. He knew that he was ready to curse whoever had made Marcus cry, and that was the most frightful thing. Oliver was scared of himself, of what he could do because of a couple of tears.

 

Marcus was surprised by Oliver's voice too. Startled. He quickly got rid of his tears as Oliver slowly went to sit next to him. To give him some space, Oliver decided to look at the stars above him, hoping they would calm down the fury he felt in his body.

 

“Cilia broke it off.” Marcus whispered. As if Oliver needed another reason to hate that girl.

 

He tried to calm down, he really did, but all he could think about was how to curse the stupid Ravenclaw girl. She had broken Marcus' heart, she deserved to be broken in a thousand pieces, and then...

 

“She said I was too caught up in everything else to be a good boyfriend, and I think she was right. I always had something else in my head, and I didn't treasure her properly.” Marcus confessed, and Oliver wondered how the other guy would react if he hugged him. Marcus' voice was broken, and it was incredibly painful for Oliver to hear it.

 

He had come to terms with the idea of Marcus being happy, even if it was with someone else. The poor Slytherin had too much shit going down in his life that Oliver had kind of accepted that another person was making him happy. Marcus deserved it. But now...

 

“You're going to find someone else, you know.” Oliver said, his voice low, trying to control all of the emotions swirling in his chest. “You're going to find someone who will be there next to you no matter how many problems you have, someone who's going to help you face them. Not someone who will leave you alone because you're too worried about your troubles.”

 

Oliver sighed, as he heard the faintest “Thank you.” coming from Marcus' lips. The Gryffindor closed his eyes, to stop trembling, both because he wanted to storm down to Ravenclaw's Tower to have a word with Miss I'm-too-good-for-Marcus-Flint and because he had to physically stop himself from hugging Marcus, and telling him that he hoped, one day, to be the person who would treasure him more than anyone else.

 

*

  


His sixth year was drawing to an end, and his anxiety was catching up.

 

On top of that, Quidditch season was going well, and that put even more pressure on Marcus, who felt responsible of the future of his team.

 

And Oliver Wood was still avoiding him.

 

It was incredible, really, how much time he spent thinking about Oliver recently. Maybe it was because when his mind focused on Oliver it didn't focus on any anxiety inducing thought, but Marcus couldn't stop thinking about the other boy.

 

Gryffindors should be brave, he often thought. Why was the guy avoiding him without confrontation? He didn't think that a Gryffindor – and especially Oliver – would simply start avoiding someone instead of telling that person what was the problem.

 

A tiny part of him thought that it was probably because of Quidditch. Oliver was fucking obsessed with it, and he was driving his team crazy in hope of winning the cup, so it could be. There was one problem, though. Gryffindor was too far behind Slytherin to catch up, especially after the spectacular loss against Ravenclaw they had recently suffered. Oliver wasn't stupid enough to think that they still could make it.

 

And, now that he thought about it, Oliver didn't even look as devastated as he had imagined he would be after the match with Ravenclaw. He had been tired and sad and angry, but nothing out of the ordinary. He had sat down, complained about Davies for no more than two minutes, and then he had started talking about how Anderson was supposed to be the new Chaser of the Bats, if rumours had to be taken for granted.

 

It had been weird.

 

Marcus was sitting on the wooden floor of the Astronomy Tower, waiting for Oliver, and trying to figure out the Gryffindor.

 

Why was Oliver avoiding him? To answer that question, Marcus tried to recall when it had all started. Oliver had been weird from the moment Cecilia had been in the picture, Marcus figured out after a moment of thought. It had coincided with the arrival of Harry Potter, Seeker of the Year, and that was why Marcus hadn't realized it at first.

 

But why had Oliver started to avoid him? Marcus thought for a moment that it was because Oliver had been somehow disgusted by the fact that he was bi, but he soon decided that the theory was wrong. Oliver wasn't that type of person.

 

But then what? What could it be? What had Marcus done wrong to...

 

_Maybe he's in love with you._

 

Marcus froze at the thought, wondering how it had even come to him. Oliver? In love with _him_? No way.

 

For all Marcus knew, Oliver had only had one crush in his life, and it had been on a guy far different from Marcus. Roger Davies was a top student kind of guy, lean and short and with pretty teeth and prettier eyes, and Marcus was nothing like that. No way someone had a crush on Roger Davies and then fell on Marcus Flint.

 

The theory worked, though.

 

Oliver hadn't started to avoid Marcus because he was in a relationship with a girl, but simply because he was in a relationship, and being with him would hurt. At the same time, Oliver still wanted to spend time with him, hence the late arrivals due to 'Quidditch practice'.

 

Marcus' mind went back to the night after Cecilia and him broke up. Oliver was trembling, and in that moment Marcus didn't really think much of it – he had other stuff on his mind, nobody could blame him – but now that he had this new, weird theory, Oliver's trembling suddenly looked important. The guy had been so enraged he had started to tremble. Marcus distinctly remembered Oliver trying to calm himself down by looking at the stars, before consoling Marcus.

 

Oh _Merlin_ , Oliver Wood had a crush on him, didn't he?

 

No, it was ridiculous. Oliver was a Gryffindor, and a Gryffindor would never even look at a Slytherin that way, let alone develop crushes on them. Furthermore, Oliver liked smart guys, with high grades and dashing smiles and short dark hair.

 

_No way_ Oliver Wood had a crush on him.

 

Marcus was so focused on this that he didn't even realize that Oliver had arrived.

 

“Hey, sorry for intruding.” the Gryffindor smiled. And... hell, was he blushing?

 

No, no way Oliver was blushing, because Oliver didn't have a crush on him.

 

*

  


Oliver had decided that he hated summer. The previous year, Marcus had come back from the summer vacation with a girlfriend. That year, he had come back with a tattoo.

 

Not that Oliver didn't like tattoos. He had always wanted one, and he had figured that once he had reached the age of 17 he would start to seriously think about how to ink his body.

 

But Marcus Bloody Flint had a bloody tattoo now, and he was apparently set on showing it to Oliver.

 

They were, as usual, at the Astronomy Tower, and Marcus was _shedding his damn clothes_. Oliver wanted to die.

 

He was completely unable to tear his gaze from the other boy – hell, now Marcus was a man, as shown by his bloody muscles he was about to reveal and by his beard, that he was growing into what Oliver could only hope to have.

 

He couldn't. Hie eyes were glued to Marcus, his mind registering all the movements for future use. Oliver wanted to die. Why on Earth did Marcus have to have a tattoo on his fucking shoulders and not on his bloody arm? It was torture, plain and simple.

 

Marcus interrupted his thoughts by talking while he turned, shedding, at last, his shirt.

 

“What do you think about it?”

 

Oliver took a moment to realize that he didn't have to say what he thought about Marcus' back – a masterpiece. Marcus' back was a bloody masterpiece – but about the tattoo. And that maybe he had to talk before Marcus thought he was an idiot or worse, before he was caught staring with... was that drool?!

 

“It's... actually, that's pretty nice.” Oliver smiled. On his left shoulder blade Marcus had three tiny Quidditch goals, and on the right one there was a Quaffle. As Oliver looked at it, the Quaffle moved towards the goals, scoring. He snickered.

 

“Without a Keeper it's way too easy to score, Marcus.”

 

Marcus turned to look at Oliver, laughing, and the Gryffindor tried to keep his cool. Yes, Marcus Flint was in front of him, half naked and happily laughing, but it wasn't a good reason to say or do something stupid.

 

“I knew you would say something like that.” the Slytherin rolled his eyes.

 

Oliver was tense until Marcus put the stupid shirt on.

 

*

  
  


Finally, the day for Marcus to admit that he had a problem came. It was quite easy to do, actually, easier than he had thought.

 

He was writing – trying to write – an essay on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration when he realized that he couldn't concentrate on the fucking paper because he was thinking about Oliver, something that kept happening and that, as he acknowledged, was a problem.

 

He didn't even have Quidditch to distract him any more, because some fucking idiot had opened the Chamber of the Secrets and Muggleborns had been attacked. Marcus wanted to punch every single one of his Housemates to make them confess being the Heir, stop this bullshit and play Quidditch again. It was his fucking last year in school, his last year before the Ministry and he couldn't even play. He felt caged, especially when he was trying to study for classes like Transfiguration, stuff that he _knew_ he would fail.

 

And then there was Oliver. Oliver, the person Marcus thought about when he was trying to distract himself from the creeping anxiety.

 

Oliver.

 

The tattoo experiment had given Marcus proof of what he had only dared to speculate. Oliver Wood was at least physically attracted to him. Oliver freaking Wood.

 

Even after months, Marcus couldn't really wrap his mind around it. Oliver. Oliver was _perfect_ , in every possible way. And he was attracted to Marcus.

 

Oliver, whose smiles were brighter than the moon shining over them at the Astronomy Tower. Oliver, who could start talking about anything, but would end up talking about Quidditch anyway. Oliver, who sent shivers down Marcus' spine every time he laughed at a joke.

 

Oliver. Attracted to him.

 

As much as he had proof – Merlin, Oliver's eyes were burning on him the whole time during the tattoo experiment – he still couldn't believe it. That was why he was spending so much time thinking about Oliver.

 

Oliver, who was unhappy since they couldn't play Quidditch, and Marcus supposed that part of Oliver's mood was due to the fact that he couldn't use Quidditch as an excuse to avoid the Slytherin any more. Oliver, who Marcus knew couldn't wait to be out there, out of school, finally being able to play for one of the teams he had always loved.

 

Oliver, who had a future of adventures open in front of him. Oliver who smiled as if it was easy, and who meant it every time, never faking it. Oliver, who got excited thinking about Quaffles and brooms and goalposts. Oliver, who was full of life, hopes and dreams. Oliver, who was so pure and perfect, Marcus realized, to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

 

He was going to fail his exams, wasn't he?

 

*

  


Oliver's heart skipped a beat, and the poor boy thought he was dreaming. It was true, though. Marcus Flint was on the 9 ¾ platform. He was there, right in front of Oliver who, he realized, was gaping like an idiot.

 

He had thought he would have never seen the other guy again. But Marcus Flint was there, looking at his feet and pretending to listen to his father.

 

Oliver quickly got on the train, because he needed to sit down, his legs too weak and trembling. His mother had asked him what was wrong. What was wrong? Nothing, of course, nothing.

 

Marcus Flint was back at Hogwarts.

 

Oliver couldn't help himself. He knew that the other boy was probably crushed by pain because of his return to school, but Oliver couldn't help feeling a little happy about it. He still had time to spend with Marcus. He still had time. Time to...

 

No, Oliver had to stop himself. He couldn't, he wouldn't tell Marcus. About this. About his stupid _feelings_. He would not tell the guy who was coming back to Hogwarts to repeat the year that he was a stupid Gryffindor who had confused friendship with love. He would train harder, become better, focus on Quidditch and maybe on studying too (his mum hadn't been very happy with his O.W.L.s, he needed to show he was a good students with the N.E.W.T.s).

 

And then it hit him. He would play against Marcus once more. One more time, they would face each other on the Quidditch pitch, and Oliver would feel that thrilling mix of adrenaline, admiration, nervousness and amazement that was playing against Marcus Flint.

 

The grin Oliver did to welcome Percy in his trailer was brighter than all the ones he had smiled that summer.

 

*

 

“I'm going to fucking murder Malfoy.”

 

Marcus' words were sure and bitter, and Oliver turned to look at him swiftly. What Marcus saw broke his heart, cementing even more his purpose of killing his Seeker.

 

If Malfoy hadn't been such an asshole, Gryffindor wouldn't have played against Hufflepuff. No matter how much Marcus tried, Snape had decided to change the schedule of the matches, and for Merlin knew what reason McGonagall and Sprout had agreed on that. Leading to that moment.

 

Marcus and Oliver were alone in the lockers room, and it was weird. They weren't used to see each other in all that light. It only made Oliver look more broken, more vulnerable. He couldn't hide his puffy eyes, or the tears rolling on his cheeks. Marcus clenched his fists. He wanted to break something.

 

Oliver smiled between the tears. “Would you really kill your Seeker so early in the season?”

 

Marcus snorted, going closer to the bench Oliver was sitting on. “Of course. Now I still have time to replace that little shit.”

 

Hearing Oliver chuckle was even more painful. Marcus didn't know what to do, because he knew that it wasn't his fault – how could he know that the Dementors would invade the pitch? - but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow guilty since he couldn't stop Malfoy, and Oliver was crying.

 

His arms acted before he could think things through, and before he knew it he was hugging a soaked, stinky Gryffindor who still hadn't showered, even if the game had finished an hour before.

 

Oliver tensed at the contact, but Marcus rubbed a hand on the other boy's shoulder, trying to sooth him.

 

It was the first time they had consciously touched each other. This wasn't an accidental brushing of fingers, or the occasional clash of knees on the floor. This was a proper hug, and Marcus hoped it would be enough to calm the other down.

 

Oliver never really relaxed in his arm, and at some point he shrugged Marcus' arms from himself.

 

“Sorry but... I can't. Sorry.” Oliver whispered, and Marcus didn't understand.

 

“What? You can't what? Accept a hug from a friend?” Marcus asked, and as soon as he said it he understood.

 

Oliver looked at him in the eyes shyly, something that he hadn't done in years.

 

“Sorry.” Marcus mumbled in answer, and Oliver closed his eyes, sighing.

 

“I'm sorry, but I will not come to our meetings. Not anymore.”

 

“What?” to say that Marcus was surprised was an understatement. Oliver didn't want to see him ever again? What was happening?

 

“I can't go on like this, Marcus.” Oliver sighed again, tearing his gaze from Marcus. The Slytherin boy didn't know what to do or say.

 

“What do you mean?” he finally asked, but he had kind of figured out what Oliver meant before he even explained it.

 

“I can't spend time with you like this. I can't... pretend to be your friend and listen to you talk about how great Cedric Diggory looks today, not when I can't stop wishing you weren't just my friend.” Oliver's voice was breaking, and Marcus couldn't take it.

 

He grabbed Oliver's hand with all the gentleness he had – which was, to be fair, not much – and he squeezed it.

 

“You want to disappear from my life without even telling me that you like me?” Marcus tried to keep his tone playful, but he was scared as shit. “The reaction to that could quite surprise you.”

 

Oliver snorted. “What, if I told you that I've been in love with you for three years, maybe even more, you'd just accept it, as if it was nothing?”

 

Oliver's tone was sarcastic, and Marcus couldn't help chuckling before answering. “As a matter of fact, I think I might actually kiss you, if you ever told me something like that.”

 

And before he could do anything, Oliver was in his arms, too close for Marcus’ brain to function properly, and there was a glint in his eyes the Slytherin couldn’t decipher. The other boy was too quick for Marcus to catch up, and in the blink of an eye Oliver was pressing their lips together. Not that Marcus was complaining, but the angle was all wrong, and their teeth had clashed because Oliver had been too forceful – or too eager - and...

 

And Marcus didn't fucking care, because kissing Oliver was far better than he could have ever imagined. Because Oliver was like fire, burning everything on his path. Because Oliver was crying and melting in his arms, and Oliver was the only important thing in that moment.

 

Marcus moved his hands on him, one on his jaw and one on his neck, and deepened the kiss, making Oliver moan louder than both of them expected. And Marcus chuckled at that, and Oliver smiled into the kiss, his competitiveness taking over and taking it on himself to give as much as he was taking.

 

“How long?” Oliver asked, panting, once they had realised that to keep kissing they had to breath, from time to time.

 

“How long have I known you had feelings for me or how long have I had feelings for you?” Marcus inquired, making Oliver blush.

 

“Shit, you knew?”

 

“Of course I knew! A first year Hufflepuff would have hidden it better than you.” Marcus joked, but he was too happy, too full of that buzzing sensation that Oliver made him feel that it didn't really come out as a joke, more as a compliment.

 

“Well, answer one of the questions, either is fine.” Oliver mumbled, faking a pout and making Marcus smile even more.

 

“Well, I noticed last year both that you couldn't stop staring at me and that I apparently liked it a lot, but I guess I have had feelings for you for a while now.” Marcus said, tugging Oliver closer.

 

It was true. On some level, Marcus suspected that he had always been attracted to Oliver, the weird Gryffindor Keeper, too good and too brave for his own good, and at the same time shy. Stubborn, hard-working, unbelievably cute when he talked about Quidditch.

 

Yes, Marcus thought as he leaned in for another kiss, he had been doomed since that day at the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw open practice.

 

*

 

Oliver had never been happier.

 

Apart from the Hufflepuff disaster, the season was going well. He didn't listen to Marcus when he told him he was getting too cocky. He knew he was going to win, he could feel it, even if winning meant to defeat Marcus.

 

Their relationship was going surprisingly well. They weren't really hiding it, but they weren't parading it in the middle of the hallways either. The twins knew, because they had 'accidentally' bumped into them making out in an empty classroom before Christmas – Oliver suspected they were stalking him, no way they knew where he was. A couple of Slytherins knew too, because Marcus and him had the great idea of studying together in the locker room one night – and yes, they weren't studying at all, sue them.

 

It was going well, surprisingly well, considering that it was Marcus and him. Maybe it was because they knew each other so well. Oliver suspected that no one knew about Marcus' father, or that the boy still dreamed to be a Quidditch player like his mother had been, but that his family had other plans for Marcus.

 

Plans Oliver didn't really care about, because he was – secretly – going to blow them up. He had told Hooch about the situation – maybe he had avoided a couple of private things here and there – and with her help he was sure he was going to find a place for Marcus in the league. He was the best Chaser the school had had in years, after all. Maybe not great in class, but Oliver suspected that the scouts didn't care about it as much as the professors pretended they did.

 

*

 

Of fucking course Oliver Wood was a morning person. Marcus groaned in the pillow, as his boyfriend got out of bed trying not to wake him – meaning by stepping on the cat's tail, creating a rucksack.

 

“Sorry.” Oliver whispered, kissing his temple lightly, and then going to the kitchen with a chubby and angry Siamese in his arms.

 

Marcus smiled, listening to Oliver prepare breakfast for the two of them. He couldn't believe that almost ten years had passed from the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw open practice he had dared to speak to the closeted Gryffindor Keeper. Almost ten years. It felt like a lifetime, but at the same time it all went so quick...

 

Marcus groaned again, because his back hurt from the previous day's practice. Oliver was a crazy captain, he couldn't believe someone had actually had the courage to put him in charge of a team. Marcus was glad to be his teammate because he loved to win – and to see that stupid grin Oliver had on whenever they won – but at the same time he was afraid to go on the pitch while that madman was his captain.

 

With a sigh, Marcus got out of bed. Breakfast, morning run, quick shower and then training. His daily routine was quite boring, but with Oliver by his side he enjoyed every moment.

 

He got up and crossed another day on the small calendar he kept in his drawer. He counted. Six days. Six days till the ten years anniversary of the open practice.

 

Yawning, he hoped that Oliver wouldn't find the box with the ring for another six days. He had glamoured it, but he had never trusted his ability in Charms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> If you want, hit me up on Tumblr (writerrain) ;)


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